


In the Morning

by orphan_account



Series: In the morning [3]
Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Super angsty, almost poetry, letting go, possible considered suicide, post-character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There goes another morning. There goes another million.<br/>I'm a coward;<br/>I couldn't live without you, but I'm too afraid to meet you.<br/>I hate you.</p>
<p>I'm sorry.</p>
<p>(Final answer to Last Exit)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> There goes another morning

There goes another morning. And another. Countless mornings I wake up to, and so many left dead before they begin.

If I want to live again…

Each morning is too bright, way too bright. And so I pass my days alone, until nightfall, and I only feel alive when all else is sleeping. I'm so out of synch. I've always been out of synch, and there was only ever one person who breathed in time with me.

You.

The traitor. The killer of mornings, the very death of me. I hate you.

I hate you just like I hate waking up.

I used to think you were pretty, once. Once, I used to treasure you like the rarest gem, like the jealous dragon's hoard. Once.

Now, it's just me. I'm my usual, selfish self now, all because of you. It's disgusting. You're disgusting. I'm disgusting. I hate myself.

I've tossed and turned in my sleep again. I've given up wearing blankets because I keep throwing them off, and even if it gets cold it can't possibly hurt more than you did.

It's your fault I never made any friends. You were all my friends. You were all I needed. And now you're gone. You son of a cock-sucking bitch.

Morning light blinds me, the unworthy creature. I'll imagine you are the sun, then I have to look away.

If you saw me now…

I don't care. Maybe once, I might have cared how you thought, and now there's no one left to impress. The world is a dead, starving place. I am dead and starving. I am deprived. I'll call it life. Let's call you death.

Everyone hates death.

Everyone hates you.

I see your parents crying all the time. They say you get over these things, when really, you can't. This is one fatal wound which can't be healed with any amount of surgery. People tread even lighter around me because of you. They keep their distance. But I don't need them anyway.

I didn't need them then. I don't need them now.

Today, just like most days, I call in sick. I don't go to that hell-hole we call school. I don't. Instead, I feel motivated enough to get up and close the curtains. Even with that shield, sunlight pierces through and I can't help but think of you.

This happens way too often.

Most days, I lie in bed while the sun smiles down with a fake plastered smile, and when it's night I can't sleep. I'm forever in this limbo, dancing between life and death without truly being on either side.

I can't remember what your voice sounds like, but maybe you'd tell me something like "Stop fence-sitting" and we'd go have hot chocolate. Something like that.

If only I could choose.

I am a coward; I can't live.

I am a coward; I can't cross over to you.

You're with me either way. You haunt my dreams when I do sleep, with a voice I can't quite remember, a face which blends in with the nothingness of the world, and the only thing I know is that your hair used to be white.

Now all I have to prove it is a jar full of ashes. Apathetic ashes, and I can't even talk to them, and they aren't even mine.

I wasn't even invited to the funeral.

You didn't invite me to the last place I'd see you. You bitch. I hate you. I hate you with every single fibre of my being. Every single sun-touched fibre.

And there goes one more morning.

I keep running from shadow to shadow, chased away by the light. I can only live in shadow now. I am blind. I was always blind, but now I don't have my guide, and I can't see, and I'm seeing less and less ahead of me. And my life is shortening. I can feel it. Yet every day stretches to a year, every year to a century.

If I ran into the light, would they see me?

Would they help me?

Would I get a better chance at life than you did? Or would I just get burned?

You sit, staring at me with an eyeless face, with a faceless body, with a bodyless form, with a formless death. Keeping me grounded. Shining light on my disappointing life. You just take my shouts, like you always do, without responding, and it's so much like you it hurts. It hurts more because you can't drink hot chocolate afterwards.

You are dead. Gone.

But you're still here. Haunting me.

So fuck off. I hate you. Don't you understand that? I. Hate. You. I always have.

Because I never was a morning person, even though I got up early every day to meet you at the train.

And I was never a social person, even though we'd talk every day and when we weren't talking, we were texting each other.

And I was quite definitely the laziest, cowardliest person, but I'd always make an effort for you.

I say all these things but I don't mean it. If you were still alive, I'd wish you were dead. So I just wish you were alive.

My memories are fading fast like the daylight – fading fast like my future, like my past and my present and everything between. Only I am mourning. Only I care. Only I still hate you. All your "friends", your "loved ones", they've all moved on. Despicable. They're not any better than me, crouching in shadows with hands to eyes. Human beings truly are insufferable.

There's a little part of my mind, a little, sun-touched side, which knows you were, are, an exception to every rule. You were stronger. And yet, you failed. Or, is it I who fails, unable to do the same as you, unable to live, unable to watch the sun rise and fall again.

It's yet one more morning, and either it's my first or my last. I will brave the sunlight for this, and then we will see who is stronger.

It is either you or I. You or I. Me or you. You and me. One of us. One of us will be stronger. One of us will exit at last.

The wind, an old enemy whom I haven't seen in millennia, or years, or days, whips around my face. But somehow, I don't feel harmed. It leaves no marks, not on my scar-ridden soul.

You stare at me with the same eyeless face, but this time I remember your smile and the sun is burning my skin. But that doesn't matter. My fears are nothing compared to you.

I take a step forward, then a step back. Could I fall, or could I run? I'll ask you for help, but I hate you and you are dead.

And I don't really hate you.

I'm just angry. So angry. And so, very sad.

I'm so pale I'm translucent, almost completely vanished. I have to make a move, before it's too late. I have decided, and I will refuse to back down. I refuse to be a bystander for the rest of my infinitesimal life.

There's one more memory, one I used to always remember until I forgot everything. Your voice. I love your voice. And now your voice is the wind. And it's calling, but it's not calling me just yet.

And now I know what I will do.

So, then, this must be goodbye. With one last, lingering, painful, bright, lonely memory, I open my eyes and adjust to the brightness.

Then I throw you into the wide ocean, and watch you float away.

**Author's Note:**

> There is nothing quite like the pain of letting go.
> 
> I am so sorry for all the angst but I needed a conclusion to round off the trilogy. If you can call it that.  
> So I wrote a conclusion, even if it's not completely satisfying, but I didn't want another death.


End file.
